Some friendships begin at work. Some start in school. Some happen because your kids play ball together.
Ours apparently begin with loud music, tequila, crawfish and, occasionally, getting slapped on the ass by a complete stranger.
Music has always been woven into our lives, but looking back, some of the people woven into our lives came with it.
I flew out to see Michelle, and we went to Wild Wings to see Stoney LaRue .
Somewhere in the middle of that night, a woman walked up behind me and slapped me on the ass.
That’s how I met Rita Ballou .
There are probably more conventional ways to introduce yourself, but they wouldn’t have made nearly as good a story.
That night had plenty of stories of its own.
Stoney had two drummers on stage, his fiddle player Jeremy Watkins was buying tequila shots, and the whole night had that slightly chaotic, perfectly memorable feel that some shows just seem to have.
We met Jeremy at a concert through Jimmy.
That could have been it. Just another person you meet at a show, shake hands with, talk music with for a while and maybe see again somewhere down the road.
Except the next night, Jeremy followed his nose to a crawfish boil at our house.
He brought his wife, Wendy.
And that’s how we met her.
Then there was Steve.
At the time, we were broke. Really broke.
Tim had picked up my Canon kit camera, and since spending money on entertainment wasn’t exactly in the budget, we started going to the free concerts at Schoepf’s BBQ in Belton.
Tim had the camera with him and was trying to shoot the show from the back of the crowd.
Partly because he was still figuring out what he was doing.
And partly because, despite what some people might believe, Tim can actually be shy sometimes.
Then this big, tall guy carrying a camera walked up to him.
That was Steve.
Steve took one look at Tim trying to photograph the concert from the back and started trying to convince him to go up front.
Get closer.
Get the shot.
Stop hiding in the back.
Somewhere in that conversation, a friendship started.
Not just another person we knew from concerts.
Steve became Tim’s best friend.
All because we were broke, found some free live music, Tim picked up a camera, and one big, tall stranger decided he wasn’t going to let him shoot from the back of the crowd.
Best friends forever was formed.
Since then, we’ve been to a lot of concerts.
We’ve made a lot of friends and a lot of fans, both inside the music industry and outside of it.
Those friendships have led to things we never could have imagined in the beginning. Music festivals. Concerts. Opportunities to work around both regional artists and national touring bands.
Nights where we showed up with cameras and left with another story, another connection, another person added to the long list of people music brought into our lives.
We’ve also been fortunate enough to watch artists at the beginning of their careers and then see them move on to much bigger stages.
And plenty of others.
There’s something special about seeing an artist in a smaller room, at a local venue or on a festival stage before everything changes.
Before the bigger tours, bigger crowds and bigger production.
Then years later, you see their name on a marquee somewhere and remember when you could stand a few feet from the stage with a camera in your hand.
You get to watch the work pay off.
You get to watch the crowds grow.
And because you’ve been around some of it from the beginning, there’s a little bit of pride in it too—not because you had anything to do with their success, but because you got to witness part of the journey.
We’ve met other photographers along the way too.
Some became friends. Some challenged us. Some inspired us simply by the way they saw a stage, a crowd, a musician or a moment we might have missed.
Photography became another language layered on top of the music.
You start out just trying to capture what happened.
Then somewhere along the way, you realize you’re trying to capture what it felt like.
And the people around you matter just as much as the person standing under the lights.
At the time, none of these moments felt especially important.
They were just nights out.
A good band. Good people. A few drinks. A lot of laughing.
But those are the nights that seem to stay with you.
Not always because of the setlist.
Not even because of the show itself.
Because of who was there.
That has happened to us over and over again with music.
A concert turns into a conversation.
A conversation turns into another show.
Another show turns into somebody coming over.
Then one day you realize the person you randomly met standing near a stage has somehow become part of your regular life.
And the funny thing is, you usually don’t realize when it is happening.
Nobody announces, “This is the night we’re going to meet people who will still be in our lives years from now.”
You’re just there.
Listening to music.
Talking too loud because the band is louder.
Laughing about something stupid.
Maybe sharing a drink with somebody you met twenty minutes earlier.
Maybe letting somebody into your crawfish boil because he smelled it from somewhere down the road.
Maybe wondering who in the hell just slapped you on the ass.
Maybe standing at the back of a crowd with a camera until some stranger tells you to get your ass up front.
Then life keeps moving.
The concerts pile up.
Bands change.
Venues close.
People move.
Jobs change.
Kids grow up.
And somehow, some of those people stay.
Years later, a song comes on and you don’t just remember the song.
You remember the room.
You remember who you were with.
You remember what happened before the show and what happened afterward.
You remember the people.
Maybe that’s one of the things we’ve always loved most about music.
It gives strangers an excuse to stand in the same room.
After that, anything can happen.
Sometimes nothing does.
Sometimes you go home with a ringing in your ears and a T-shirt you probably paid too much for.
And sometimes you walk out with people who become part of your story.
We went because we loved the music.
We had no idea how many friendships would come with it.